


Taxi Ride

by eleret



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-16
Updated: 2007-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleret/pseuds/eleret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder tries to find Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taxi Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the [Peter/Mohinder Fix Exchange](http://peter-mohinder.livejournal.com/2007/09/16/) in 2007, and therefore was written pre-Season 2. The title comes from the Tori Amos song of the same name. I listened to it quite a bit while writing this.

They save the world, and nothing changes. Everyone goes back to their lives – well, almost. Bennet doesn’t work at a paper company anymore, and Mohinder drives a taxi more than he works on research. Molly Walker lives with Matt Parkman and his wife. And Peter Petrelli hasn’t been seen in two months. Nathan shows up about a week after the explosion, fairly intact, but he has no idea where Peter had gone and no time to look for him.

And then Mohinder gets the call from Nathan, late at night.

“Peter’s been seen in Nebraska. Can you go?”

He packs a bag as he’s answering the congressman, his hands shaking.

 

He decides to take his cab and drive the whole way. It’s only a three-day drive, so he’ll only have to spend two nights in hotels, making driving cheaper than flying.

He’s not exactly thrilled about taking another trip across the U.S. Everything makes him think of Sylar, and how impossibly stupid Mohinder had been not to realize he was being tricked.

But the promise of seeing Peter again is enough to keep him going. He has to see Peter – they never got to talk, and they only had one week together in New York, and he never told him so many things that he wanted to say.

 

He wants to tell Peter how much he misses Molly, he thinks as he drives straight across Pennsylvania.

He had known he couldn’t adopt her. Ignoring the fact that adoption agencies didn’t really look kindly on single, newly-immigrated taxi-drivers, Mohinder was in no position to take care of another human being.

He didn’t make enough money, he didn’t know how to care for children, and he was gone almost all day and some nights working.

No, he had never harbored any delusions about them having some happy little family, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss her. She lives in Texas, and he hasn’t seen her since the explosion, and a part of him will always feel like he should have been the one to adopt her.

But he wants to tell Peter, because he can’t shake the thought that Peter would make it all feel better.

 

The first night, he stays in Cleveland, Ohio. Despite what everyone says about it, he doesn’t feel like it’s the hell-on-earth that all New Yorkers seem to feel it is. Of course, he checks in to the first cheap motel he sees and has vending-machine food for dinner, so it’s not like he exactly spends a lot of time exploring the city.

He watches T.V. most of the night, even though he knows he should try to get a good night’s sleep, because the motel reminds him of ones he stayed at with Sylar, and he can’t sleep when he thinks about that.

He watches the news and the weather for a while, but there’s only so long he can see the same things repeated over and over again, so after a while he switches to sitcoms and movies.

He sees some show about a female sports reporter that is rather silly, and then watches part of an episode of _Friends_ before switching to a re-run of _CSI: New York_.

After becoming convinced that he will be murdered in Central Park if he continues to live in New York (something which he sadly finds strangely comforting), he watches horrendous music videos. Beyoncé, K.T. Tunstall, and a couple of bands with men wearing eye-liner and black and red clothing pass before his eyes.

He finally falls asleep a little after midnight, and he dreams of Peter.

_The first time is messy. They don’t make it to the bed._

_Peter knocks on the door and when Mohinder opens it Peter kisses him forcefully, sloppy but determined, and pushes him back into the room._

_Mohinder can’t remember why Peter’s there, when exactly this took place, or how he ends up pressing Peter into his door._

_But he remembers kissing Peter back with everything he has. He remembers biting Peter’s lip and making him gasp. He remembers trailing a line of small, sharp kisses from Peter’s lips to his ear and then down to his collar bone._

_Peter has the most beautiful collar bones, delicate and sharply defined and so perfect for kissing._

_He kisses Peter with each button of his shirt that he undoes, and with each kiss Peter makes a different moan. (He wonders, briefly, crazily, whether he might be able to play a song along Peter’s chest and stomach by moving his lips in just the right rhythm.) He doesn’t bother to push Peter’s shirt off his shoulders, just pulls it aside so he can get to Peter’s belt and jeans, sliding swiftly to his knees._

_He reaches for Peter’s belt, and as he does Peter makes a strangled noise and runs a hand through Mohinder’s hair, pulling his face up to look Peter in the eyes._

_Peter won’t ask, “Are you sure?” because they’re both very sure of what they’re doing, but he has to stop for one second, just to make sure that Mohinder is every bit as sure as Peter is. Mohinder understands this, so he just takes Peter’s hand in his own and squeezes it for one second before moving it to his own neck and going back to work on Peter’s belt, biting Peter’s navel as he unbuckles it._

_Sucking cock is not something Mohinder has ever particularly enjoyed or done often, but he understands the concept, and with Peter it’s different. He wants every part of Peter, he wants to touch and kiss and suck on every inch of his skin. He wants to make Peter moan himself hoarse._

_Finally, finally, he gets Peter’s jeans undone and yanks them off with Peter’s boxers. He doesn’t pause, he doesn’t really think anything (except maybe Yes!), he just leans over and takes Peter in his mouth. And moans._

_He doesn’t even try to go slowly. Peter’s so close that he’s basically one long moan, so Mohinder just swallows, somewhat clumsily, and grabs Peter’s hips._

_It’s over quickly and Peter is on him, pushing him down onto the floor (Mohinder lies painfully on a book, and has to squirm to get it out from under him) and straddling his hips and kissing him, hard and messy and incredibly good._

_He pushes Peter’s shirt down off his shoulders and then slides his hands slowly down Peter’s sides, making him whimper low and desperately. He fumbles with Peter’s jeans, but with Peter’s assistance they manage to get them all the way off, and now he knows Peter has some kind of ability (possibly sex-related, he thinks crazily) because his shirt and pants are missing and he doesn’t know how that happened at all._

_They kiss, and it’s messy and confusing and perfect, and Peter is hard again._

_Peter whispers in his ear, “Fuck.”_

_And Mohinder gasps back, “Exactly.” And then, with anguish, “No lube.”_

_Peter groans, but that might be because Mohinder shifts his hips, bring their cocks into an alignment so perfect that all thoughts of anything except moving together suddenly evaporate._

_Mohinder clutches Peter’s hip with one hand, and with the other he pulls Peter back down to him, and kisses him. The angle is a bit awkward, but the kiss is beautiful._

_They can’t stop touching each other, Peter’s hands running along Mohinder’s shoulders to his arms and back, Mohinder stroking Peter’s neck and jaw and hip, and their movements against each other becoming quickly erratic._

_They come almost together, freezing mid-kiss, and as they do, Mohinder pulls away slightly. He wants to say it; he has to tell Peter before it’s too late, except it’s already too late and…_

He wakes up and he whispers, “I love you” the way he should have then. The way he may never be able to now.

 

The second day, Mohinder drives through Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. He turns on the radio as he nears Chicago, hoping to find something decent. After a few minutes of trying to find some music while avoiding crashing, He finds a station that is, in fact, decent.

It plays American music, of course. He hasn’t listened to any good Indian music since he left home, but he’s adjusted. This music is, from what he can ascertain, that strange genre labeled “alternative.”

He doesn’t know exactly what the music is an alternative to. Deafness through heavy-metal? Diabetes contracted from bouncy “pop,” maybe? In any case, the music keeps him awake, and for several hours he concentrates on obscure lyrics and rhythms and chords that are different from other music, but similar to each other.

Finally, he reaches Davenport.

 

When he gets to the hotel, Mohinder decides that he has to get some sleep or he will never be able to drive the six-or-so hours to Nebraska the following day. So he takes a sleeping pill and he watches TV without really comprehending any of it until he drifts off.

_This is not a regular dream, and he knows it because it feels like his dreams in India, when he was so confused, and the young dream-walker helped him to resolve his conflicting emotions about his father and their work._

_He is in his apartment, and he watches as he and Peter make love for the first time again. But this time, he is not a participant, and he is not the only one watching._

_He cannot say exactly when he knows Peter is not just moaning against his apartment door but also standing next to him. He just knows this, and he knows that the Peter next to him looks older and sadder than the Peter he watches with his former self before he turns to face him._

_This Peter wears baggy jeans and a sweatshirt that says “Blue Moon Coffee Co.” His hair is shorter, but his face is stubble-covered and his eyes are tired. He looks at Mohinder with a solemn expression._

_He says, “You have to know that I’m not gonna recognize you. When you find me, I won’t remember.”_

_Mohinder blinks. “What do you mean? If you have no memory, how are you speaking to me now?”_

_Peter gives him a crooked smile. “The world works in mysterious ways,” he says sarcastically. “Listen – seriously, you have to tell me who I am. You have to get me back to New York. Just consider this…a subconscious intervention.”_

Mohinder wakes up just as he is about to ask Peter where he is. He doesn’t sleep again that night, but instead he calls information and finds the location of Blue Moon Coffee Co. – Lincoln, Nebraska.

 

Lincoln is a nice town, Mohinder thinks. He drives all morning, and he reaches it about three in the afternoon, exhausted and yet also a bit shaky with adrenaline.

Lincoln does not, in some ways, seem like the other Midwestern towns Mohinder has seen. He’s no expert, but he thinks Lincoln has a different feel. It’s pretty, and it seems…accessible. There are gas stations next to coffee houses and sushi restaurants. It’s a bit strange, in all honesty. And yet, Mohinder feels like Peter would feel at home in here.

The Blue Moon Coffee Co. is, from what Mohinder can tell, a health-food/specialty-coffee café. A tall, thin man with dreadlocks is behind the counter, and when Mohinder asks for a coffee he rattles off ten kinds. Mohinder picks one that he can remember and pronounce, pays, and goes to sit down.

It is at this point that he realizes he has no idea how he will find Peter. Lincoln isn’t a particularly large city, but he still doesn’t know whether Peter will actually ever come back to Blue Moon Coffee Co., or whether he simply bought a sweatshirt there in order to have a sweatshirt. He isn’t sure how the owners of the café will feel about him sitting in it for days on end.

And then serendipity (or destiny) intervenes.

The man who walks through the door has short-cropped black hair, hasn’t shaved in at least two days, and is too thin. He wears jeans that are too big and a sweatshirt that says “Blue Moon Coffee Co.” Even though his hair is short, as he enters the café he flips his head as though he is trying to flick bangs out of his eyes. He is completely and distinctly Peter Petrelli, and yet he isn’t the man Mohinder knew.

He sighs, and quickly walks behind the counter. “Sorry I’m late, Steve. I can close if you like. What should I do?”

“Steve” hands Peter a mug of coffee and gestures to Mohinder.

As Peter walks to Mohinder’s table he looks at his feet. When he sets the cup down in front of Mohinder, he looks at him, and for a second he freezes. Everything freezes.

Mohinder feels hot and cold. He feels shaky and paralyzed. He thought he was ready – he wasn’t.

After a moment Peter clears his throat and smiles vaguely, “I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asks politely.

Mohinder smiles shakily and says, “Hello Peter Petrelli, I’ve come to take you home.”

 

That evening, Mohinder and Peter stay in Peter’s run-down, one-room apartment in Lincoln. It took a while, but Peter understands now. He still doesn’t remember, but Mohinder knows somehow he will. Dream-Peter told him to take real-Peter back to New York, and Mohinder doesn’t ignore those kinds of messages anymore.

He sleeps on Peter’s fold-out couch, and for an hour or two he just stares at Peter as Peter sleeps. He tries to convince himself everything will be okay. And eventually, he sleeps.

_He is in his apartment, watching as he and Peter kiss against his door. He knows that Dream-Peter is next to him, knows that Dream-Peter is wearing the same faded sweatpants and t-shirt that real-Peter went to bed in, knows Dream-Peter wants to talk._

But for a few moments, he just watches the scene play out before him. It isn’t arousing from a third-person perspective. At least, not now, when he knows how it ends.

When he turns to Dream-Peter, Dream-Peter has a solemn expression on his face. He is watching Mohinder, not the scene in the apartment.

“Hey,” he says seriously, “you have got to stop obsessing about this. Mohinder, you didn’t have to say it. I know. I’ve known all along.”

Mohinder blinks, confused, and Peter smiles, a little sadly and a little tiredly, but when he kisses Mohinder it is only passionately. He looks at Mohinder carefully when he pulls away, and he says, “I love you too.”

When Mohinder wakes up, the sun is shining, and Peter (real-Peter, his Peter) is standing over him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Um…hi,” Peter says. “I’m ready to go home now, Mohinder.”

 

 


End file.
